Jim Ecklund
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othing
strikes terror into the hearts of American tourists more than a Japanese
toilet. Most are manufactured by the Japanese company “Toto” and like the
little dog from “the Wizard of Oz” one look tells you that you aren’t in
Kansas anymore! Like
most things in Japan, the toilet spans the entire gambit of design from
the lowly urinal on a pole near a ball field to a remote-control “throne”
that would rival Captain Kirk’s command center. The most common type is
an oblong porcelain tray with a
hood at one end. I
can’t help but recall a dissertation given by Wally, an engineer from New
Mexico who joined us on the 1993 exchange. One evening he had my brother
Steve and me in stitches with his vivid primer on proper pooper protocol.
“Put
on the WC slippers” Wally said, “and jam your toes as far forward as possible.
Being they’re most likely 4 sizes smaller than your American feet, it is
best that they be firmly on your feet. Straddle the hood with your feet
approximately shoulder width apart and drop your pants until they are about
sock level. Next bend your knees to about a 45 degree angle and lean forward.
Assume the position of a Nordic ski jumper about to become airborne.”
“Many
things come into play at this point,” he remarked, “trajectory, velocity,
angle of attack, the Bernoulli principal of aerodynamics. The object is
to hit the bowl without taking any detours and without losing your balance.
And one more word of caution-hang on to your wallet!” The
Japanese have a word for when something falls into the great porcelain abyss.
There are also many English words that come to mind, none of which are appropriate
for mixed company. Wally was certainly right about the wallet. When your
pants are in that position, a wallet squirts out of the back pocket faster
than a cat out of a bathtub. And the odds are pretty good it will end up
in the stew. More
prevalent on this trip were commodes on the other end of toilet spectrum.
Our host in Taketa had what could only be described as a “john
from star wars.” It actually had a hand-held remote control though I
never quite figured out the logic in that. It’s not like you would push
those button from across the room! Not only was the seat heated, but
a tiny fan blew gentle breezes when weight was applied. A control panel
rivaling most washing machines was ergonomically placed for ease of use.
Each button had a simple ideogram of it function and a kanji description
(if you can read it). After several tall birus and countless tiny “whistling”
sake glasses I courageously decided to take the old toto for a spin. To
quote John Glenn I said “let’s light this candle!” I
started at the back of the panel and worked my way to the front. Each one
had a distinctive “personality.” Whoosh, whoosh, slide back and forth. Then
I pushed the front pink button. Bad mistake! Water was flying everywhere
but where it should. I was trying desperately to reach to stop button, but
I needed both hands to stop the torrent from soaking me thoroughly. In a
frantic lunge I managed to cap the geyser and the “magic wand” retracted
harmlessly into its rest position to await its next foolish victim. Fortunately
I found a towel and made myself presentable. After about 5 minutes, I stopped
laughing and rejoined the party as if nothing had happened. A strategically
placed napkin covered the telltale signs of my bathroom adventure until
I dried off.
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